Chapter 30 - Page 2

chamber, sword in hand, we fell upon the dragoons, who, outnumbered as they were, backed into a corner and struck out fiercely, knowing that they need expect no mercy after the devil's work in which they had been engaged. Holloway, our sergeant of horse, springing furiously in, laid himself open to a thrust which stretched him dead upon the ground. Before the dragoon could disengage his weapon, Sir Gervas cut him down, while at the same moment the stranger got past the guard of his antagonist, and wounded him mortally in the throat. Of the four red-coats not one escaped alive, while the bodies of our sergeant and of the old couple who had been the first victims increased the horror of the scene.

'Poor Holloway is gone,' said I, placing my hand over his heart. 'Who ever saw such a shambles? I feel sick and ill.'

'Here is eau-de-vie, if I mistake not,' cried the stranger, clambering up on a chair and reaching a bottle from the shelf. 'Good, too, by the smell. Take a sup, for you are as white as a new-bleached sheet.'

'Honest warfare I can abide, but scenes like this make my blood run cold,' I answered, taking a gulp from the flask. I was a very young soldier then, my dears, but I confess that to the end of my campaigns any form of cruelty had the same effect upon me. I give you my word that when I went to London last fall the sight of an overworked, raw-backed cart-horse straining with its load, and flogged for not doing that which it could not do, gave me greater qualms than did the field of Sedgemoor, or that greater day when ten thousand of the flower of France lay stretched before the earthworks of Landen.

'The woman is dead,' said Sir Gervas, 'and the man is also, I fear, past recovery. He is not burned, but suffers, I should judge, poor devil! from the rush of blood to the head.'

'If that be all it may well be cured, 'remarked the stranger; and taking a small knife from his pocket, he rolled up the old man's sleeve and opened one of his veins. At first only a few sluggish black drops oozed from the wound, but presently the blood began to flow more freely, and the injured man showed signs of returning sense.

'He will live,' said the little swordsman, putting his lancet back in his pocket. 'And now, who may you be to whom I owe this interference which shortened the affair, though mayhap the result would have been the same had you left us to settle it amongst ourselves?'

'We are from Monmouth's army,' I answered. 'He lies at Bridgewater, and we are scouting and seeking supplies.'

'And who are you?' asked Sir Gervas. 'And how came you into this ruffle? S'bud, you are a game little rooster to fight four such great cockerels!'

'My name is Hector Marot,' the man answered, cleaning out his empty pistols and very carefully reloading them. 'As to who I am, it is a matter of small moment. Suffice it that I have helped to lessen Kirk's horse by four of